Knock on Wood
by Rhianwen
Summary: Drake, Wendy, and household repairs. Someone call the paramedics. For 30kisses theme fences.


Knock on Wood

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Disclaimer: All characters belong to Kurata, not to me. He has not authorized their use here, as he has not, as far as I know, sustained any severe head trauma and lost his mind as a result recently.

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Summary: Drake, Wendy, and home repair. Someone call the paramedics. For 30kisses theme "fences".

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"You're going to hurt yourself."

Wendy looked up, annoyed, as this flat grumbling interruption broke the silence that had been filled only with the faint rustle of a light breeze through the grass and the soft sound of the occasional bird dropping in for a brief hello.

"Well, yes, I'm going to hurt myself if you don't stop distracting me."

"Seriously; give me the hammer," Drake commanded, reaching for it. "I'll do it."

"I broke it," she reminded him, trying to tug it out of his grip. "So, it's only fair that I fix it for you."

"How the hell did you manage to break my fence, anyway?" he groused, snatching the old coffee can filled with nails away while her attention was on the hammer.

She grinned.

"Apparently, I'm good at your American football."

He chuckled slightly, eyeing the fragments of what had previously been the fence separating his back yard from the alley and recalling her exclamations of alarm when she found herself lying in a nest of splintered lumber and gravel, the football still nevertheless clutched tightly in her arms.

Maggie had almost laughed herself sick. Although, to be fair, she had waited until the befuddled woman had stumbled to her feet and called out that she was okay, but she didn't think the fence was.

That, coincidentally, was about when Drake had joined his daughter in breaking into uncontrollable howls of laughter.

Even taking into account his poor abused fence. He'd just repaired the damn thing last year, too.

"I don't know. Most of the good players I know don't cause me property damage."

"And most of the _good players_ you know probably wouldn't take the time to fix it, even if they did," she huffed, pouting as he shook the can of nails teasingly. "Honestly, Drake, I can do this. I used to help Dad shingle the roof at home, until I fell off once and broke down all the trees we'd just planted the summer before. But Dad said I did a good job on the shingles! Honestly, I'm good at this sort of thing!"

"I'll believe _that_ when I see it."

"Well! If you'd give me the hammer and nails back, you might be able to see it!"

He handed both over, and then lifted his hands in a gesture of helpless despair.

"Alright, fine. But if you hurt yourself—"

"You'll kiss it better for me," she finished with a playful grin.

A brief pause.

"Sure. So, go ahead, Handyman."

With a petulant "hmph!" she pressed one of the newly purchased fence boards up against the two supporting beams, and carefully positioned a nail directly over the higher beam. Drake winced as she drew the hammer back, and relaxed slightly as the hammer connected with the head of the nail with a good, sound thwack that didn't seem to be putting any fingers in jeopardy.

Several more firm taps, and the first nail was in securely.

And then the second, and then the third, and before long the first board was neatly in place.

Drake, however, was not prepared to deal with any further strain on his nerves.

"Give me that," he ordered, pulling the hammer out of her grasp again. "That was a fluke; if I let you keep going, I'm going to end up taking you to the emergency room."

"You're mean!" she said, nevertheless releasing the hammer, and turning away pointedly to pout.

"Yeah, I know," he smirked.

A startled shout of pain drew Wendy's attention effectively away from pouting at the pile of lumber. When she grudgingly turned around, the hammer was lying on the ground, and Drake was clutching a sore thumb tightly, muttering a string of words she thought she might have seen spray-painted in a public toilet once.

He glared sharply at her as she fought back a smile.

"Don't say anything," he warned.

So, instead of a well-timed and, in her opinion, very deserved _I-told-you-so_, she pulled his hand towards her and brushed a kiss lightly over the sore place.

Just as she finished asking, shyly and blushing pinkly, if there was anything else that hurt that she could kiss better for him, a trilling laugh of delight at catching the grown-ups _being silly_ drew their attention from each other to the little girl grinning impishly down at them.

"Geez, this is what you two call fixing the fence?"


End file.
